mail call

[illgotten]

    Niko. It's become a litany, a charm to soothe himself to sleep of nights. Niko, come home to me, come home.     By now he no longer believes in it. There was no word of farewell, no word in the months since then. Niko is gone; has left him, as if after all it meant nothing. He should never have let himself be convinced otherwise

Comments

[cywyllog]

It's only a few moments later when she gathers her shawl and follows him, quiet as always.

"Mordred?" Just loud enough so he knows she's there. "Are you all right?"

[illgotten]

He's leaning hard on the rail of the fence, stiff-armed; he straightens a bit at the sound of her voice, but doesn't relax. "Fine. I stalk out dramatically before breakfast all the time. Just ask Clar."

[cywyllog]

She regards him silently for a moment.

"Who is Niko?" Sometimes, there's just no point in beating around the bush.

[illgotten]

A pause. "Friend of mine."

[cywyllog]

"He lives here, too." It's not a question. "I believe Zara may have mentioned him in passing."

[illgotten]

He jerks upright. "I'll bet she did. That--" And breaks off. In a more controlled tone, "Zara's not your friend, lady. And by God if she starts after you, she's not mine either. I'm not going to put up with this. Christ, it's enough of a mess already."

[cywyllog]

"You need not worry that I am under the misapprehension that she even remotely likes me, let alone wants to be my friend." She stands beside him now, staring straight out over the yard. "After all, you are free to do as you wish."

[illgotten]

"The hell you say."

Succinct and eloquent, our Mordred.

[cywyllog]

Which earns him a brief glance and a shrug.

[illgotten]

"Let me tell you, lady, if I were I'd be in less of a mess than I am. I have, contrary to popular belief, morals here and there."

[cywyllog]

"I merely meant that it is not for me to dictate what you should and should not do."

[illgotten]

He throws her a strange, startled glance. "Why not?"

[cywyllog]

She looks back, just as puzzled. "Why would it be?"

[illgotten]

It's absurdly like the conversation he had with Niko, all those months ago. You don't owe me anything! But Niko is a progressive young man of the late eighteenth century, and this, patently, is not. Mordred frowns up at her, troubled.

"You have rights, you know," he says at last. "I just-- don't flatter myself you're jealous." A little, twitchy shrug.

[cywyllog]

"Mordred... I am your wife. It is my place to do as you tell me. It does not work the other way around."

She sighs. "Would it matter if I was?"

[illgotten]

"Of course it would." He looks away abruptly, as if the turn of the conversation unsettles him. "But you don't--"